The Unwelcome Visitors

I've had them visit before.  But it's been awhile, we trapped a bunch, got a cat, and I forgot about them.  But they came back.  Yes, I'm talking about our mice friends.  Those furry little critters that I hate so much have become my unwelcome house guests again.  The only thing is...they're not in the kitchen.


It all started a couple of weeks ago with a bag of candy on my husband's side table.  It had been there for quite a few months, and he'd munch on it every once in awhile.  But for the most part, it sat there undisturbed.  That is, until the fateful night when I heard something rustling around in it.  I woke up my sleeping hubby and he promptly closed the bag up, put it in a trash bag, and threw it in the back of his truck...mouse and all.

Then a week passed.  A week without anymore visitors.  We thought maybe this one mouse had just been a fluke...boldly getting past our little mouser.  Unfortunately, he wasn't alone.

It was 3 am about a week ago when I woke up to the light on and my husband walking around outside our room.  When I asked him what was up, he told me, much to my chagrin, that there was a mouse in the bathtub.  Again.  He got a trap out of the closet, baited it with peanut butter, and then set it in the bathtub.

Rustle, rustle...rustle.  But no snap.  For a long time.  Fed up with the annoying mouse, my dear husband asked me if I could find the cat.

So, I went outside in the freezing cold in my pajamas and called for Elsa.  She came quickly, looking bewildered...especially when I took her inside.  She's not allowed inside normally, so this was odd.

Andy put her in the bathtub.  She promptly jumped out and hid under the bed.  Scared silly, she ran to the complete other end of the house, where I finally caught up with her, and started meowing the loudest, saddest cry I'd ever heard.

So neither the trap nor the cat worked.  Plan C.  Andy takes his air soft gun and shoots the offending mouse, who promptly dies.  Who would've thought?

Since then, we've had a few visitors in the closet, although Andy's trapped them all.  I've found a few mouse droppings, but, again, all in the master bedroom.  So far, not a sign of a visitor in the kitchen.  For this, I am incredibly thankful.  As before, I can see how God is using these creatures to mold me and shape me.  I don't gag every time I have to clean up droppings, and I'm not afraid of going to the bathroom in the dark.

No, I don't think I'll ever be able to dispose of the deceased enemy myself, although I'll set a trap quite willingly.  And I'll still probably scream every time I see a black shape moving along the wall.  But I'm getting better.  Slowly, I'm learning to let go of my irrational fear of a tiny creature who's only searching for a little food and warmth.

I suppose I should be thankful for the mice.  After all, their presence is changing me and mellowing me out.  I'm learning to "freak out" less, as my husband describes my outbursts.  Yes, God, thank you for the mice.  Now, can you please keep them out of my kitchen forevermore? :)